Whores go Where Lions Reside
by Blue-eyes Lily
Summary: Tyrion meets a woman at the marketplace, and finally receives the answer to the question he has long since asked himself, "Where do whores go?"


**Author's Note: Ok, so I'm really excited about this: my first Game of Thrones fanfiction (eek!) I really love the character of Tyrion and especially his storyline with Tysha which, as we all know, was regrettably… well, screwed up in the series. I really hope I've done it enough justice, but since I'm pretty insecure about this fanfiction, reviews will not just be greatly appreciated, but are sorely needed. If this goes down well, I might write more Tyrion fics.  
Love you guys,  
Blue-eyes**

**Summary: Tyrion meets a woman at the marketplace, and finally receives the answer to the question he has long since asked himself, "Where do whores go?" Could be headcannon, set sometime after Blackwater and before Tyrion's escape. Mostly bookverse. Raterd M for mature subject matter of none-explicit sexual nature (so kiddies watch out ;-) )**

**Disclaimer: All rights go to George R. R. Martin, the genius creator of A Song of Ice and Fire, David Benioff and Dan Weiss. No copyright infringement intended, for the sole purpose of entertainment.**

Whores go where Lions Reside

She stood in the same spot every day, selling her wares at the harbour. She was oft all stature, but the years of bowing down over her work had hunched her shoulders, shortening her overall appearance considerably. She was by no means an ugly woman: when not tied into a knot at the nape of her neck, her hair- once vibrantly brown and shiny, now greying and tired looking, was long and flattered her face in soft, delicate waves. Although her face was perpetually dusty- the mark of less than advantageous living conditions- , a boarder of grime forming around her long nails, she had the elegant fingers that only one adept with a needle or thread (or else, a musical instrument, but that would apply to a far more privileged woman than she) could have, and her features were fine and youthful, not marred by the effects of age and poor living quality. She was not plain exactly, but to any onlooker, the only thing truly striking about the woman was her eyes.

Her eyes, so complex in their beauty, had received many a compliment. Sapphires set in deep, chiselled crevices of porcelain, framed by thick lashes and exquisitely rounded brows, so vibrant in colour and yet so faded in liveliness: gone was the light that they had shone with in days gone by, replaced by a heaviness- a glassy appearance, as though tears threatened to drop and moment, and a far off, weary wistfulness. To every comment on her eyes, she always answered, "Ah, every woman has some mystery, has a past, as do I."

It was common rumour amongst the market-folk that she had been mistreated as a child, raped in her youth and then sold off to an impotent old invalid man, whose deformities had left him bedridden, but had not rid him of the natural desires of men. Only she herself could negate or confirm this rumour, and she herself refused to do so.

She was married, and though certainly not passionately, without a doubt happily. Her husband was a merchant from Myr, who sold fabrics overseas. She worked as a seamstress, fashioning clothes from her husband's hand woven, hand printed materials. They had no children, for she had been unable to conceive as of yet, but they contented themselves with the company of each other and that of a stray cat they had adopted as a pet some years back. When he was on his travels, she partook in market days for an additional, more regular income.

It was during one of said market days that she was _him: _majestic, despite his short stature and awkward, swaying waddle, blonde and bold as the day was long- outwardly, at least. A grizzly scar covered much of his nose and cheek, considerably changing the features she had once known, but still, there was no mistaking the young Lion: Tyrion Lannister, Son of Tywin Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock.

Next to him, standing well over a foot taller, walked a wolfish man wearing a jovial smile, his black hair long and matted. She could not help notice that, inspite of his careless banter with the dwarf, his sword hand never left the sheath at his side.

"Bronn," she hear the Lord say, "I should look for some stuff for Tommen's new jerkin. I fear his was torn in a rough and tumble game… under my supervision, regrettably."

" Boys will be boys, lest we teach them otherwise, eh?"

Tyrion smiled and gazed up at Bronn, his green eye piercing, his brown eyes soft and nostalgic.

"So they will," he sighed, before composing himself, "If my sweet sister were to find out, I would surely find my head up on a spike sooner than I could blink."

"Was Tommen hurt?"

Tyrion scoffed, "Hardly. But a torn jerkin is something Cersei will surely not take lately, since it can be blamed on me. She's likely to see it as the next step of my campaign to annihilate the entire noble family of Lannister. I should try to replace the damned thing before she finds out- chances are she won't even notice."

By that time, they had reached her stall.

"May I help you, m'Lord; Ser?" she said, curtseying to Tyrion and bowing her head to Bronn, respectively. The dwarf narrowed his mismatched eyes at her and cocked his head slightly, piercing her with his stare. He seemed about to say something, before he shook his head subtly, banishing his thoughts. He replied to her with a vague hum that she could not understand as affirmation or refutation. She watched as he started running his small hand over the fabric she had laid out on the table in front of her.

"Hardly the stuff for Tommen," he mumbled to himself, feeling the material for quality, "but I think I should take it for Pod. The poor lad has so little…"

He turned to her and held up the corner of a length of delicately patterned blue stuff, "I will take the whole length of this, please."

"Three silvers," she replied, pulling the fabric out from the bottom of the pile. As she exchanged fabric for money, she was struck by a sudden thought. She dug deep into the pockets of her plain, brown dress, and protruded an old golden coin.

"I gave you the appropriate amount," Tyrion said, as she attempted to hand him the coin, evidently confused and assuming that she was, perhaps, a little dense, "I require no change."

Rather inappropriately, considering the difference in gender and status between the two of them, she took his hand in her own, turned it upside-down, pressed the coin into his palm and folded his stunted fingers over it, her blue eyes staring into his two-tone ones all the while.

"A Lannister always pays her debts," Tysha whispered.

**Author's Note: Reviews are worth a fortune in gold- and an author always pays her debt :-P**


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